Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
No matter what it costs me.
Chapter Five
PRIEST
Itook a risk leaving the Syren crucified on the cross. Though I had locked the door behind me so she was as secure as possible, both roped and chained, there was always a chance something could go wrong.
But I couldn’t be in there a minute longer. With her blood coursing through my veins, making it harder to control my impulses, I had to separate myself from her. There was a moment there, when I used my magic to heal the wound on her back, that I felt her nipples brush against my bare chest, and I thought my cock would explode. I was hit with the urge to run my lips over her breasts, to bite and feast, to let my hands roam southward. I have no idea what a Syren’s anatomy was like, but I wanted to find out.
I was a monster, I knew, but I didn’t want to be of that kind. Wicked men were like that, those who preyed on women, who defiled them. Perhaps all men have some sort of beast inside them, driving them to do such things, but that was the last bastion of humanity I had to hold on to.
God, help me hang on.
Now, in the quiet of my cottage, with only the occasional howling gust of wind outside to keep me company, I need to formulate a plan. I need to be able to think clearly without that Syren occupying my thoughts, not to mention my desires.
Tomorrow is Sunday. People will be here for the funeral of the two fishermen, and then they’ll be in church. I have to ensure she is subdued and quiet. If she happens to fall from the cross or get out of the chains, then she’s no longer a secret. Then, she becomes a spectacle.
Maybe I can put some sort of spell on her, perhaps one that takes away her voice without the use of chains. I’ll see what I can muster. My magic was stronger before I had been turned into a blood-drinker, back when I was merely a human witch. I had to bury my magic entirely in the monastery, for such power is an indulgent act already, and I was more likely to lose control of myself.
Now, I use it on occasion—to heal people under the guise of God, to compel people when I need extra persuasion, to spy on people if needed. I’ve always had the gift of being able to enter the mind of any animal, so as long as that animal is in my sight, and I can control them to an extent, seeing through their eyes. For a moment, it crosses my mind that if the Syren was more animal than human, perhaps I could do that to her. I could at least try.
Dawn breaks the cloudy sky by the time I feel more in control and composed, and I head back to the chapel.
The Syren is right where I left her, a vision in holiness.
Her head is slumped to the side, the chains taut around her mouth, blonde hair hanging around her face like an angel. Her breasts remain full and perfect, her arms held back by the ropes with no sign of her impalement. There is no light in the room, the candles having all burned out, and yet it seems like she’s shining.
Just for me.
I stop and close the door, quietly locking it behind me with the skeleton key that I slip into my trousers.
She hasn’t moved at all, and I feel a pang of fear that perhaps she’s dead. But then her chest rises, just a little, taking in a quiet breath.
I walk toward her and stop to get a closer look, wanting her to raise her head and meet my eyes. I want to see that fire in them I saw last night, that devilish beast within her.
Perhaps our beasts could both come out and play.
But I shake that thought from my mind and focus on her crucifixion, on the cross. It reminds me to stay pure, to stay in control, to do what must be done and only what must be done.
“Hello,” I say, standing in front of her. My voice sounds hollow in the room, and I feel a bit silly for saying something so bland, given the situation.
But she doesn’t stir. I don’t expect her to understand Spanish, but she doesn’t even flinch.
I reach out and grab the hair at the top of her head, pulling her head back so I can see her clearly. Her brows come together faintly, and she lets out a soft moan against the chains. But she doesn’t open her eyes, and when I let go of her hair, her head slumps forward again.
I glance down at her tail. Up close, it looks like the scales are flaking off, as if it’s starting to shrink and dehydrate. Does she have to be in water to survive?